


In Passing

by avislightwing



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: (who knew that was a legit tag lol), Captured by the Enemy trope, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Rhys is bi obviously, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avislightwing/pseuds/avislightwing
Summary: Lucien runs into Rhys on his way to check on Feyre while they're trapped Under the Mountain. Based on cardinalrachelieu's Cutthroat Fanfiction:  ACOTAR Edition Generator. Prompt was:CHARACTERS: rhysand and lucien; TROPE: captured by the enemy; TWIST: rhys must lean against at least three (3) door frames over the course of the ficTitle is from Company of Thieves song “In Passing”





	In Passing

“God fucking dammit, Rhys, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Lucien was so sick of Rhysand. Sick of his feathery hair, and of his stupid black wardrobe that practically _screamed_ villainy, and his stupid violet eyes. Who the hell had violet eyes?

Rhys was leaning against a door frame. “Going somewhere?”

“None of your business,” Lucien snapped. He didn’t have time for this. Even as they spoke, Feyre could be dying. He’d been worried out of his mind the past week as he’d lain wounded in his chambers. He didn’t even know if Feyre was still alive. He needed to get to her – heal her. Not just because Tamlin was in love with her, and Tamlin was his High Lord. Because she was his friend, and he wanted to be hers.

His back still hurt like hell, but he couldn’t waste another minute.

“If you’re going to see Feyre darling,” Rhys said as Lucien was about to push past him, “don’t bother. I got to her three days ago.” He grinned, showing teeth so white that Lucien wanted to put a hand over his own mouth on instinct.

Lucien turned to Rhys – slowly. “What did you do to her?”

“Healed her. It’s a good thing, too – she would’ve been dead by the time you got there.”

“In exchange for what?” Lucien said, teeth gritted.

“Oh, nothing much… Just one week of her time per month for the rest of her life.”

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Lucien shoved Rhys – hard. Rhys must not have been expecting it, because he lost his balance and stumbled backwards, almost falling. “Screw you, Rhys,” Lucien said, breathing hard. “Seriously. Screw you.”

Rhys’s eyes were glittering. “So that’s what you were thinking about when you were shut up your chambers for a week, little Lucien,” he crooned. “And here I thought it was Tamlin who held your heart. What a lovely surprise.” Rhys stepped towards Lucien, and Lucien backed away instinctively, until his back met the doorframe. He let out a soft hiss of pain at the contact.

Rhys leaned in, bracing one arm on the wood above Lucien’s head. Cauldron boil him, why did Rhys always have to make him feel so… undone? This close to the other man, he could feel heat radiating off of him. He’s consistently and ridiculously surprised by how… warm Rhys is. If he’d had to guess, he’d have thought that Rhys’s skin would be cold as a Winter Court faerie’s.

It really wasn’t fair.

“Fuck off, Rhys,” Lucien snarled, but didn’t move. He didn’t want to do a thing – not a damn thing – to put himself any closer to the other man.

Rhys clicked his tongue softly. “Is that any way to talk to a High Lord?”

Lucien’s breath hitched as Rhys’s head dropped a little, and he felt his fine hair brush against his face. “You know perfectly well I’ve never given a shit about who I talk to how.”

“And we’ve seen where that’s gotten you.” Rhys lifted one elegant finger and traced it, feather-light, down Lucien’s scar. “Trouble, little Lucien, nothing but trouble. You break your mother’s heart, you know.”

“Don’t bring her into this,” Lucien said, his voice a half-hearted snarl, the other half devoted to trying not to think about Rhys’s finger lingering on his face.

“So I’m not allowed to talk about Tamlin, and I’m not allowed to talk about your mother… what _am_ I allowed to talk about?” Rhys mused. “Or perhaps… should I not talk at all?” He bent down further, and his breath ghosted across Lucien’s neck.

“Don’t,” Lucien breathed, the only word he was able to get out of lungs that seemed suddenly empty.

“Don’t what?” Rhys’s nose brushed Lucien’s neck this time, and Lucien had to grab the doorpost behind him for support. “Be specific, Lucien.”

Lucien opened his mouth to say _don’t fucking touch me_ , but the words died in his throat. His body was crying out at the contact – begging for the caress of Rhys’s hands, the press of his mouth against his own. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him like this. Tamlin made a point of staying a safe distance away, as he did with all males. Andras, perhaps, but… it had never been like this, both soft and sharp, with him. Lucien hadn’t let it be the former, and Andras would never have let it be the latter.

Rhys was different. Lucien had known it from the first time he’d seen the male. Lucien had been playing emissary from Spring to the Court of Nightmares, and Rhys was all windblown hair and cheekbones sharper than Lucien’s own and star-glittering night edging his form. Lucien’s breath had caught in this throat, and he’d known that Rhys had noticed.

 _Startled?_ Rhys had said, and that darkness had curled over his hands, changing into talons that clicked lightly on the arm of his onyx throne.

 _Only by the fact that the High Lord of Night sits like a whore_ , Lucien had shot back.

Rhys’s response had been to widen his legs even more and give Lucien a slow, predatory smile. _You’re much more fun than Tamlin is, little Lucien_ , he’d said. Lucien remembered thinking that Rhys’s gaze was a heady thing – that he could’ve sworn it was magic, a slow lick of shadow that brushed his body in places that had heat rising in his cheeks.

It hadn’t helped that he’d been on his knees at the time.

They’d run into each other a few times since, both before and since Amarantha had taken over. Each time, Lucien had reminded himself of Rhysand’s cruelty, his vindictiveness, but… only afterwards. In the moment, it was always like this:  like he’d been drugged with faerie wine, like he’d grown dizzy from dancing until the sun rose, like he’d been put under a spell.

Lucien jerked back as he felt Rhys’s tongue touch his skin. Unfortunately, he jerked into the doorpost, and he couldn’t help a sharp cry of pain.

Rhys frowned. One of his hands wrapped gently around Lucien’s wrist and tugged him forward, and the other slipped under the back of Lucien’s shirt, skimming over the half-healed lashes. “I thought she let you heal.”

Lucien gave a hollow laugh. “Only to the point where I could stand up.”

He hissed again as Rhys prodded one of the tender spots on his back. “Well, we can’t have this,” Rhys said. “It’s no fun to seduce you if I can’t even pin you against a wall. Here…” And quite suddenly, Lucien felt the pain drain away.

He felt his back. There were still raised scars, but that searing, snapping pain no longer ripped through him at the touch. “You –”

“Healed you,” Rhys finished.

“You don’t give anything away for free,” Lucien said, suspicion creeping into his tone. “What do you want in return?”

Rhys leaned in, his breath warm against Lucien’s ear. “Would a kiss be too much to ask?” he asked, voice soft and seductive.

Lucien didn’t respond. He thought of Tamlin snarling at Rhys, Feyre cursing him. He imagined what they would say if they were in his position. He knew what it would be:  _Get the hell away from me, you bastard_.

But he wasn’t either of them. He was Lucien, and he was _lonely_.

“No,” Lucien breathed, and closed his eyes against the treachery.

His eyes were still closed when Rhys kissed him. He’d expected a devouring – a deep, searching kiss, intense and almost painful. Instead, it barely a brush of Rhys’s lips against his own.

Lucien’s eyes flickered open and met Rhys’s. For once, they didn’t look violet. They just looked blue – and almost sad.

“I’m sorry,” Rhys said, and for a moment, his hand came up to cup Lucien’s cheek, thumb brushing against his scar.

And then he was gone – melted into nothing but shadows and emptiness – and Lucien was alone once more.

**Author's Note:**

> (okay this got a bit more hot and heavy than I am used to writing so I would appreciate feedback cool? cool)
> 
> Find me on tumblr as birdiethebibliophile!


End file.
